


Chained to the Path

by GilliganGoodfellow



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-typical treatment of Witchers, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lambert Needs a Hug (The Witcher), M/M, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Witcher Whump Week (The Witcher), Wolf Pack, hopeless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilliganGoodfellow/pseuds/GilliganGoodfellow
Summary: Lambert never chose to be a Witcher. Yet he walks the path, dragged by invisible chains into a life that has enslaved him.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher), Lambert & Vesemir (The Witcher)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84
Collections: Witcher Whump Week 2020





	Chained to the Path

“Perhaps the path will be kind this year.” Vesemir had said, before Lambert left.

The path. 

A path of spits and barbed words. Of underpaid contracts and taverns that refuse his custom. A path of cold caves and damp forest camps. His feet scuffing the floor as the chains drag him from village to town, from noticeboard to Alderman’s house. From caves to camps and another woman spits at him in the street. 

The shouts of mutant and freak, the orders to crawl back under the rock he came from.

But the chains keep pulling. Lambert is a slave to the path, to this life that he never chose. 

Chains pull him from the bedroll each morning, weigh down on his chest each night, drag him along the path. 

Dragged from drowner contract to poorly paid leshen fight. To baths in cold rivers and a sleep without comfort.

And finally, finally the weather grows colder and the chains drag him back to Kaer Morhen. 

He climbs the mountain path from Kaedwen, reaches the school as the sun is just setting behind the mountains, and Eskel pulls him into an embrace.

“I’ve missed you little brother.” 

He finds his smile as winter passes. He shares stories. He helps with chores. He sits by the fire in the evening and trains in the morning, and the days pass and then the chains are dragging again.

On the last night at Kaer Morhen, they always sleep in Eskel’s room. The eldest brother lays on his back in the middle of his bed, Geralt held against one side, and Lambert held against the other. They sleep and he kisses their foreheads before he settles back for his own rest. 

Eskel’s arm holds Lambert securely, he can hear his brother’s slow but strong heartbeat beneath his ear, and he never wants the evening to end.

But it always does. 

The chains drag him back into the life he never chose. One of his shirts is ruined. He burns it. He shivers, and ignores the hunger. He does another drowner contract. Clears a nekker nest. A child throws a stone at his shoulder as he passes through their village. His parents applaud him for the act. 

“Perhaps the path will be kind this year.” Vesemir had said, before Lambert left.

Chains drag Lambert as a bucket of putrid water is thrown over him, punishing him for a life he never chose. 

The weather grows colder, and the chains drag Lambert back to Kaer Morhen.

He stops smelling the stench of his own sweat halfway up the path. He stops hearing the birds and wind, stops seeing anything except a blur. The chains drag him on, they know the way, and Lambert stumbles through the gates of Kaer Morhen and into Eskel’s arms.

“Oh little brother, you’re home now.”

They bathe him in the hot springs and he sleeps in their arms that night. 

He mumbles one word answers to requests for stories. He helps with chores with lackluster movements and results that often mean Geralt has to follow him up. He sits by the fire in the evening and with a blank expression on his face.

Lambert screams during training. He strikes one of the dummies, slices, kicks, spits, shouts “Go back under your rock” and throws aard and igni and anger and hatred. Shouts mutant and freak at it. He throws stones and wishes for putrid water. 

By the time he is done, the dummy is little more than burnt straw and splinters. 

In the evening they sit by the fire, Lambert curled up on his side with his head in Vesemir’s lap as the Witcher whispers to him. 

“You’re my son. Their little brother. A witcher, strong and brave. Our potion master. Our precious wolf.”

Eskel pulls a blanket over Lambert. Geralt holds his hand. 

“You’re my son. Their little brother. A witcher, strong and brave. Our potion master. Our precious wolf.”

"We love you." Eskel says. 

"You're our little brother." Geralt says. 

Lambert falls asleep. 

He wakes in Eskel’s bed, strong arms holding him securely, and he can hear his brother’s heartbeat beneath his ear.

On another day, Vesemir gives him a parchment. “Tell it about your pain. No one will read it I promise.”

And Lambert writes. 

When he is finished, Vesemir throws the paper unread into the fire, and Lambert watches his pain burn. 

The weather becomes warmer, and Vesemir gives Lambert a sword for the path. It’s silver, fits his hand perfectly. He nods his thanks, and places it in its sheath against his back. Then Vesemir embraces him, and makes him promise to stay safe, to stay alive. 

Lambert nods, and promises to stay alive. To come back in the winter. 

On the last night at Kaer Morhen, they always sleep in Eskel’s room. The eldest brother lays on his side with his arms wrapped around Lambert. Geralt lays behind the youngest wolf, embracing them both. He sleeps and they kiss his forehead and hair before settling back into their own rest. 

In the morning, Vesemir helps Lambert to prepare his things. 

“You’re my son.” He says again, Lambert held against his chest. “Their little brother. A witcher, strong and brave. Our potion master. Our precious wolf. Whatever the path tells you, those things will never change. Come back to us in the winter. We will sooth all hurts.”

Lambert nods.

After breakfast, Lambert takes one last look at Kaer Morhen, and lets the chains drag him along the path. 

Putrid water. Shouts. Stones. Cold caves and damp camps. And Lambert is a slave to the path. So he lets the chains drag him along. 

He hears about a contract, and he goes to Ellander and an ogre. 

“Perhaps the path will be kind this year.” Vesemir had said, before Lambert left.


End file.
